


The Dying One

by Goldmund



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23854525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldmund/pseuds/Goldmund
Summary: It's so short it does not need a summary. Spoiler Alert: I killed off Mycroft. Angst, Forgiveness, a bit cheesy. Season 4 is ignored. Alternative Timeline, whatever.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	The Dying One

Snow now was falling and it happened to be a quiet night, but for the single noise of a single gun shot that echoed through the vast and empty hangar of the old factory building.  
One step forward and his little brother was saved. It took him only one step and the bullet fired by James Moriarty’s twin brother Sebastian, originally meant for Sherlock, ripped through Mycroft Holmes’ winter coat, suit jacket and dress shirt before it penetrated his skin and punctured his right lung. Mycroft gasped, stumbled and fell to the ground.   
Only a moment later he heard another gun shot. He felt someone’s arms around his torso and then his head was carefully placed on someone’s thighs. He looked up and saw his brother’s pale face. He was looking at him in disbelief, and there was something in Sherlock’s eyes Mycroft had never seen before: Fear.  
Mycroft coughed, feeling a steady pressure building in his chest. He lifted his hand to his face to wipe off the warm substance that was slowly trickling down his chin. When he saw that it was his own blood he paused.   
Sherlock bent down to him, his dark curly hair so dashing and wild, Mycroft wanted to ruffle through it.  
“Moriarty’s dead. You’ll be okay. I’ll keep you warm. John’s on his way.”  
Mycroft coughed again. More blood spurted out of his mouth.  
“Sherlock, listen...” his throat felt like fire was burning its way right through his flesh.   
His brother took his hand and pressed it painfully hard.   
His voice was trembling now: “No, no, no, don’t die on me! Are you listening, Mycroft? Don’t you dare, dying on me!”   
To Mycroft this sounded like a command he had to obey, but he felt so tired. He shivered whereupon Sherlock pressed their bodies closer together. Mycroft smiled.   
“You are such an idiot!” Sherlock cried out. “You know...” Sherlock’s voice cracked “...I had everything under control. There was no need for you to step in and play the goddamn hero.”  
Mycroft chuckled which made his breath rattle in his throat and more blood spurted out of his mouth: “I know. That’s usually your forte.”   
He closed his eyes. It became too much of an effort to keep them open.  
Sherlock tried to move him, but stopped when Mycroft groaned in pain.  
“I have to get you out of the cold and to the car. You have to help me. You’re too heavy. Put on weight again, didn’t you?”  
Mycroft knew only too well his right lung was filled with blood. He had trouble breathing. There was barely oxygen left that reached his brain. He started to feel lightheaded.   
“Sherlock, stop it. There’s no time.”  
“Nonsense. There’s always a solution. Let me think and don’t interrupt me.”  
“Sherlock, listen, from now on, you’ll have to do without me. Dr. Watson is a good man. He’ll help you.”   
“Shut your mouth, Mycroft. Just don’t say anything anymore.” Sherlock constantly shook his head now. He pressed his hand to Mycroft’s wound in a desperate attempt of stopping the blood loss. His hands were covered in his brother’s blood. Once that first tear broke free, the rest followed in an unbroken stream. Sherlock bent forward. His body was convulsing.  
“Sherlock...” Mycroft lifted his hand, but was already too weak to reach for Sherlock’s wet face.  
“No...” Sherlock’s balled his fist.   
“You lied to me. You said you’ll always be there for me.” He bent down, pressing his face against his brother’s shoulder.   
“You own me.” Sherlock’s lips mouthed against his brother’s ear.  
Mycroft coughed again.   
Sherlock had stopped moving entirely. His little brother’s mind was working on a solution. Mycroft could almost hear the gyri of the brain turning, twisting and rolling like the little pieces of mechanical clockwork.   
“I could create an airway into the thoracic cavity, in order to release the pressure, so that you can breathe again? What do you say?“  
“You have to let me go, Sherlock. You know what you have to do.” Mycroft’s voice was barely a whisper now.  
“You bastard,” Sherlock shouted at his dying brother.  
“I’m sorry about what I did to you, Sherlock.”  
Mycroft’s hand found his coat pocket, pulling out a small note book which now was trenched in blood.   
“I wrote everything down, Sherlock. Everything I wanted to say to you. I made a list too.”  
Sherlock took the note book off his brother’s hands, opening a random page. The head of the page showed one word framed “Redbeard”.  
Sherlock’s hand found Mycroft’s chest feeling the slowing contractions of his brother’s heart. His face was contorted with pain over the inevitable loss and their rift in the past and all the times Mycroft had pleaded for his forgiveness and Sherlock had denied him over and over again. All the moments Mycroft had tried to apologise, but Sherlock had retorted with a sneer or a harsh remark. Now Mycroft had taken the fall for Sherlock. He had given him everything. He had followed through all the way.   
“It’s all I could do, Sherlock, ‘cause you’re my brother, ‘cause that’s what older brothers do.”  
Sherlock winced. He bent down again and brought his lips to Mycroft’s ear while caressing his brother’s cold hand.  
“Of course, I forgive you, Mycroft.”  
He could not believe it had taken him all these years to say the words. Now it seemed to roll off his tongue so easily. He could say it effortlessly a hundred times more. He could tell everybody that they were reconciled...that he loved his brother after all.  
“Do you hear me? I forgive you.”   
Sherlock gave him a warm smile, but Mycroft remained still and untouched by his brother’s late pardon.


End file.
